


Of Rainy Days and Gas Stations

by Santhe



Series: Random Word Prompts- Oneshots [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: College, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santhe/pseuds/Santhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tavros gets in a tricky situation and is saved by an unlikely hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Rainy Days and Gas Stations

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of one shots I'm doing with any of the Homestuck ships I like and a group of four random words from a website. This one's words were couch, speakers, egg, and sign. This isn't really my favorite ship ever, but I thought I'd give it a try.

The pavement is uneven under your heavy feet as you pause on the curb, one hand brushing the post of the stop sign as you glance around at the darkening streets. The air gives off the acrid scent of rain against the road from the downpour that only stopped a few minutes ago. Confirming that the street is empty of cars, you step quickly along the striped crosswalk, shoving your hands deep into the pockets of your hoodie, checking again to make sure the bills- three neatly folded papers, each ten dollars in worth, fresh from the wallet of the man who’s house you just came from- are still there. He’s one of your most constant and best paying employers, a man who has more dogs than shirts and spends all his afternoons away working, the perfect opportunity for a kid like you to work after school nearly every day, especially since he has a new puppy who can’t stand being without a person for more than a couple of hours.  


  
You’ve almost reached the other side when you hear the shouts and the whir of hard plastic wheels against the sidewalk. It’s not a noise that bodes well for you, not ever, and you speed up, jumping onto the curb and all but running along the well-lit asphalt into the gas station.  


  
It’s a surprisingly nice place, all neat shelves of colorful bags of chips and cheap cookies, lights as bright as Walmart, freezers tucked into the wall emitting a quiet hum under the cheesy pop music thrumming from the crackling speakers. The bathrooms are uncharacteristically clean, and there’s even a little hang-out corner with a suspiciously stained old couch, a very fake looking plant, and a worn table covered with torn, outdated magazines.  


  
The cashier, probably near the end of her shift, doesn’t even glance up at you from her slouched over perch on her stool. You cross the floor quickly, shoes scuffing against the graying linoleum, headed towards a glass door covering an array of milk and eggs, before you hear the door clang open behind you again and quickly redirect to the couch. You cast a furtive glance over your shoulder in time to see the skateboards and the crooked hats and the half dropped pants before dropping onto the couch and slouching down as far as you can, praying that they didn’t see you.  


  
For a minute, you think you’re safe. Their loud conversation continues unbroken, tasteless jokes and short barks of laughter, and you doubt they’ll come over here, as the cigarettes are all displayed openly behind the cashier. It’s a short lived relief though, because suddenly the coach groans and drops as another heavy figure lands a few inches away from you.  


  
You look over slowly, eyes wide and scared, to see him staring at you unabashedly, hair dark and crazy, smile lazy and eyelids drooped, pajama pants hanging loosely under his legs, propped up on the coffee table. You’ve seen this kid before, although not yesterday, when you viewed so much of the rest of this crowd.  


  
“So. You the kid they beat up the other day, huh?”  


  
His voice is deeper than you expected, and any words you find stick in your throat to come out in a noncommittal “uh.” His expression oddly doesn’t change and it’s unnerving you a little bit and he makes a noise under his breath and… did he just honk?  


  
“No need to be so worried, motherfucker. Chillax, I ain’t gonna do nothin.”  


  
“I, uh.” You try again, with limited success, still no clue why he’s talking to you, why he hasn’t summoned his little gang over to their prey yet, why he would call you a motherfucker while trying to comfort you, and more importantly, why it actually worked a little bit.  


  
“Hey, Gamz!” one of the other boys calls it from across the room and you wish the couch would swallow you because now they’re all going to find you here. “You want a pack?”  


  
“Nah, bro, think imma head in. Dude’s gotta sleep sometime.” The so-called ‘Gamz’ apparently said something funny, as it is met with a hoot of laughter from across the room, which is silenced just as suddenly as the tall kid drops his legs off the table, stands, and pulls you up by the back of your shirt in one smooth, unexpected motion. “Plus I gotta take care o’ this little man.” They’re all staring at you, piecing together your distinctive hair, your crumpled stature, your blackened eye, knowing exactly who you are and where they last saw you.  


  
One of the them, another tallish boy, though not as tall as the one next to you, steps forward with a slight smirk on his face. “We already took care of that one, I think. He might need a little more though, if you want help.” You recognize him. He’s the one who held your arms behind your back last time.  


  
You’re trapped. He’s in the way of the door, and the entire group would be on you in a second if you tried to dart past. The girl at the counter is watching the scene with a vague interest, but she won’t be much help. Plus the hand on your shirt collar has looped heavily around your shoulders in a grip that you’re sure could tighten to a choke in a nanosecond.  


  
Panic surges through you as the boy steers your nearly unresponsive body around the couch, but the words coming from his mouth don’t match the imminent doom you sense coming. “Nah, think I’ve got it, bro. Catch ya later.” And the wet, rain-scented air is back on your face and the door is closing behind you and the light splatter of returned rain touches your nose and the warm arm is still curled around you and the slightly off put but still loud jokes are fading away behind you and it’s just you and the boy, walking down the street in the quickly fading dusk. Alone.  


  
You cast a side glance at your companion, still confused, but not as scared as you should be. This kid is twice your size, is smashed 99% of the time, and has no reason whatsoever to follow any rules he doesn’t want to. But. Didn’t he just save you from another beat down in the parking lot?  


  
The lazy grin is still plastered over his face, but his voice is slightly less affected now. “So what’s your name, motherfucker?”  


  
Again, you should feel threatened, but you don’t. You feel like, in his own strange way, he’s trying to breech the impossible distance between you. “I, uh, I’m Tavros.”  


  
“Nice to motherfuckin’ meet ya. I’m Gamzee. See you around, bro.”  


  
And his arm is gone and he’s loping lazily away with his shoulders slouched and his hands in his pockets and a grin on his lips, leaving you right in front of your boarding house. You watch him for a moment, then stare in disbelief at your gate. How did he know where you were staying? You turn back, convincing yourself to call out and ask him, but the road is empty and dark. “Gamzee?” you whisper, but there’s no response, so you push open the gate and you rush into your house, worried again about the other dangers around, a half-heard honk still ringing through your ears.

**Author's Note:**

> Actually really liked how this turned out!


End file.
